Lonely Rivers Sigh
by UE
Summary: “Kizuna” means “bond.” What it means to be Kizna Towryk.


Beginning Notes: There seems to be quite a few fics on Zero's past, myriads on Hiead's, but hardly anyone does anything for poor Kizna. So this is my tribute to her and her bonds with "Zero" and…a character you'll least expect. Sorry if the entire fic is confusing, but its purpose is to prompt original thought and interpretation.

Disclaimers: Kizna Towyrk and all the other MK characters are courtesy of Yukiru Sugisaki. Their whirly invented pasts, courtesy of me. The open-mindedness present while reading, courtesy of you. ;)

**Lonely Rivers Sigh**

**(Wait For Me)**

"Will she be okay?"

The black-haired boy chewed on his lower lip in uncharacteristic worriment, vision darting acrobatically across the room. The dimmed lighting of the room made the shadows on the doctor's pinched face look like dried black blood and the silence stifled his already shallow breath. Things didn't feel right, but why that was, he couldn't understand.

"Will she…?"

He didn't want to understand why.

Maybe, he thought, maybe he was convincing himself of nothing at all.

Calloused fingers scratched nervously at the bandages that were wrapped around his forehead as another sigh was forced through the stilled air. 

It _had_ to be nothing. 

But he resisted the feeling and pressed again, more insistent this time. 

"Tell me, will she be okay?"

Breathing out an imperceptible sigh, the doctor turned his back and, with his hands, began sorting through the various documents that were on his desk, having only the crisp rustling of his movements serve as any sort of audible answer.

Something gripped the boy then, but this time all attempts of its dismissal were futile. He knew that this was the Beginning, because he Saw. That's why he was here, that's why they wanted him, that's why she--

"Please…

"Will she be okay?"

Coldness settled along the boy's spine in steadily paced shivers, waiting for a blow, anticipating, just as he did. When the doctor finally spoke to him, stony and final, it was with a voice that paved all the shadows from his skin onto his breath.

"_Crow_."

His name spoken was an affirmation of all that he feared, and the boy knew this: the doctor was clearly moving away from him, heading towards the chair, jotting down several notes on his thick notepad, the pencil scraping relentlessly against the paper, the answers to everything held between the lines and their silences.

With eyebrows knotting against the fresh sweat, he opened his mouth again in readiness to speak, but before he could say just one more thing, a friendly-looking nurse with a warm face and warm brown hair came in and suggested that they leave the good doctor alone.

"But, but…"

But the doctor didn't even look up from his stack of papers to acknowledge the entrance of the woman, nor did he pause what he was doing when she ushered the boy away.

Many minutes passed after the creaking of the closed door faded, but the doctor was still bent over his desk, writing.

***

"I'm sorry, _Miss_ Towryk, but I don't believe you're eligible to become a pilot candidate."

Kizna glowered as the man triumphantly produced a list of requisites and pushed it towards her, his tight little eyes and equally tight manner taunting her. She snatched the list from his hand and, scowling aloud, allowed her eyes to scan it in full detail:

Wrong Gender

Wrong Blood Type

No EX

"As you can see—"

His voice pointed to where his finger didn't.

"It's all written there."

The paper shuddered in her hands.

"Do you have any more questions?"

Lowering her head, she brought the front rim of her hat down as far as she could, over her eyes, over half her face.

"Any more concerns?"

Funny…

"Well?"

It was the first time she had needed to use it to hide something besides her ears.

"Miss Towryk?"

She could hear the shuffling of papers and the swiveling of a chair.

"I believe I have adequately satisfied your request, then."

She looked up. His movements were swift and sudden – she was left gawking at his back even before the mandatory courtesies were exchanged.

"Good day to you."

Kizna removed herself from her chair and stood straight, her eyes quiet and far away, not really looking at anything in particular, as she bowed slightly to the man. Heading towards the main entranceway, she decidedly walked outside until she was far away from the registrar building and at the end of the block, whereupon she began running as fast as she could to wherever her legs would carry her, clutching the piece of paper in her hands tightly until her knuckles bared whiter than the broken clouds in the sky overhead.

***

They had said she had reconstructive surgery after the fall, but that her hearing would never be the same again. She would experience some dizziness on occasion and it should come as no surprise if she were to suddenly black out, too. Still, she was definitely lucky. Up to that point in her life, she had never fainted, and during those times when her world would sway from side to side like a staggering ship, all she needed to do was to maintain her balance, keep her stomach from heaving up and out of her mouth, and within a miraculously short time, the feeling would pass over.

She felt eyes on her and stopped walking. Across from her stood a young man who watched her, his hands stuffed edgily in the trimmed red pockets of his dirty jacket, his back stiffened against a wall, cement against cement. With a cursory glance, he could have been mistaken for a mere outsider, but she could tell that there was something more – his shoulders sagged with centuries of sadness and in those eyes, she knew there slept secrets unspoken. 

They had said that precious things ought not to be taken for granted. In spite of the subsequent handicaps, she should be thankful that she was still alive; her foolishness should have resulted in injuries more serious, and they probably would have, had it not been for that someone who had helped bring her to the medical lab so quickly.

The Someone. The one who saved her and the one who taught her how to sing. There was once a time in her life where she knew who he was, but now…

Well, they wouldn't tell her no matter how many times she asked.

The young man now looked at her expectantly, as though they had known each other for a weary number of years. She did not disappoint. Lulling notes of a song found their way through her throat and floated passed her lips, staying in the air for only a moment—transfixing, transpiring—before finally coming down like spring-kissed snowflakes.

They had said for someone with partial hearing loss in both ears, she certainly sang as though all her faculties were up to par. She couldn't remember if she was angry or shamed when told that fact – she had a feeling it was both. Even so, their praises were almost redeeming: they said that listening to her sing that song was like experiencing some sort of heaven, that their souls would quiver like spiritual virgins in desire and that once she stopped, they were left feeling hollow and whole, rich and robbed all at once. She remembered, more clearly than anything else, how complete and happy she was by those words. Not because they were from them, or for her, but just…because.

She closed her eyes and her voice rose higher, higher, higher – a golden eagle sailing towards the upper tiers of a swirled sky. She held onto that final note for several seconds before releasing, and once it was all over, her breath collapsed against her chest. Smiling, she watched the young man pack three solid claps. 

He started to move away, but then stopped to say something, a string of whispered words too low for her to hear, but she turned to him and nodded her head anyway, knowing exactly what he meant.

They had said that some things were meant to be forgotten, but she didn't know whether or not to believe that because it seemed she was never given a choice in the matter. They predicted that her memory would reach normality in a few years from now, as long as she didn't get into any more harmful accidents. They warned that if there was any more damage, she could potentially lose all the memory collected so far. The fact that she was regaining it at all, though, was the first good news she had in awhile, and it made her feel more optimistic. If she thought about it, she realized just how much easier it was to remember things, such as what day it was, what she ate for breakfast last week, what she wore the morning she fell, how the scent of her fresh blood was as thick as hot copper—true, his name and face were still gone now, but she was certain that one day they, too, would return to her.

And when they did, she would be there, waiting.

***

Behind them, the wind picked up and teased the branches of a looming tree. He could hear the brittle leaves rustling in their sleep and matching his own humming tune. The cold chill beat against the bandages of his chest and threatened to break inside but he tried to withhold the pain, wincing.

"That song is my favorite."

Still humming, he lowered his head and looked at her.

Her hooded sweater was far too big, hanging over her tiny body like a second skin; the way she looked against the grass, too, sprawled out, her thick brown hair ruffled and sticking out in all sorts of directions, and how she gazed at the distance with her huge, brown eyes – the entire sight was tickling. He wrinkled his nose with a smile.

She caught his stare and stuck her tongue out.

"Hey…"

It was almost a whine, almost a request. He stopped humming and chewed on his lip, as though he were thinking.

"Hey, do you think we'll be friends forever?"

As she whispered, she looked away and blushed unnoticeably, growing somewhat embarrassed for no reason that could be put into words.

"Do you?"

He tried to listen to her and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, and scratched the top of his head, right by the bandages, while looking up at the setting sky. The air between them had already begun to condensate into quietness by the time he spoke again. 

"What connects a blue sky to its black mirror?"

She brushed a stray strand of hair into place and turned her eyes to his face with questioningly silence. When he turned cryptic and when his eyes became wide-eyed and crystallized, she knew that it was best to hold her tongue.

He didn't move and continued.

"At first the sky is grey-blue, barely born and blossoming, and it grows, and as it does so, it turns colored and darker, opening into something brighter every second until it's a jeweled blue. But then, hours after that, the sky melds with the space that lives behind it…

"The sky meets the space every night…

"It becomes it."

She squeaked in response.

"I don't understand…"

But he talked on as though he never heard her. 

"There is only one moment, or maybe two, when the sky is actually space, sharing the same stars, sharing the same dreams. Then, the sky dies a little, parting from the black to become blue again and each minute is a lighter minute and before we know it, it's a seed of morning blue once more. It's a cycle, that goes on almost forever."

She fidgeted uncomfortably and bit on her lower lip. She always did that when he got like this because she was too young to understand. 

"Um, is that good or bad?"

Then again, so was he.

He looked above them at the now dissipating clouds, eyes moistening into a clear blue.

"Sky and space are connected. Even though they meet each other for just an instant before the spell is severed, they are connected by time."

"Why time?"

He finally heard her and he turned his head to the side to look straight at her, but she had a feeling he couldn't See her. The wind blew harder, causing his black hair to fall over his eyes, and his boyish face grew into something different.

"Time Is What Separates Them, Therefore Time Is What Connects Them."

***

Phoenix-tinged flames spooned across the liquid dark, wings of patterned scarlet and orange spreading wide and burgeoning across the burnt blackness, falling up and down, like the heaving breast of some burdened beast flailing in a pool of its own blood. Fire called out his name but he could only stand brazen, disregarding the ash and dirt that smeared his face, watching the devils laugh in the flames as they consumed all that was within their greedy grasps. He wanted to cry as their stomachs swelled and grew dazzlingly red, but he couldn't find the strength. Too beautiful, too horrifying – he couldn't turn from it. He didn't deserve to look away.

"You…"

She was lying on the ground, facedown, and he couldn't move.

Insides burning and bursting, too much like the fires around them, he ran to her, and in that moment, while his body pushed him forward and his head held him back, he felt like two persons colliding – one, struggling to stretch across the tightened air and Fly, the other, wishing to hide within the smoke and to Fall.

Sing for me… 

In the end, he couldn't tell if it was inertia or guilt that propelled him forward. Everything slowed when he finally knelt beside her, hands hovering just barely over her hair. His eyes shook at the sight of tears glossed against her skin, but her body was still warm when he grabbed her head. He brought her body close to him and she turned towards his warmth, eyes softening. That smile of hers always made him choke, and this time, with its broken frailty, more than ever.

"It's okay."

Her eyes were desperately searching for his, like a pair of hands groping with the hope to find another set of its own kin. Bringing his forehead closer to hers, he breathed on the side of her face to let her know he was there, but her eyes looked dimmed and glassy. Her sight was fading in front of his very eyes, yet she still whispered to him with unfailing hope.

"No matter what, we'll be able to meet again. And soon, you…"

Her voice wandered off into a corner of the darkness, lost, and melted. He tried to follow, but her words got in the way.

He held her hand; she held her breath.

And then she slipped away.

***

Nighttime had never really been anything more to her than the appropriate occasion for recumbence, but now that she was finally beneath sheets that didn't smell like hers, Kizna found that her thoughts laid out in her mind more clearly when she was laid out in her bed.

Now that she was finally here, she wanted to ensure the highest rate of success possible. She would train hard, study all that needed to be studied, and put her absolute dedication and determination into everything she worked on. After all, when you have no past and your passing present becomes your growing past, and you fight to keep your future as your present, your "now," there isn't much choice. Kizna felt that she was grabbing her only sense of now with both hands, with the hope of a secure clasp on this butterfly that threatened to fly away at any unguarded moment.

Yes, this was it.

Pride ripped and renewed, she knew her purpose now was confined to the role of a repairer. Many times she had told herself a repairer was just as good as a pilot, that the latter was completely dependent on the former, just as a king needs his queen, his advisors, his subjects. She was told this in all her pre-training classes, a pity-fueled inflated sense of importance distributed to the masses in order to motivate, but she knew better. She knew very well that many repairers were more expendable than a single pilot: the former required mostly manual labor, and of course on many levels, mental concentration and acuity; however, the latter demanded, in addition to everything needed in a repairer tenfold, blessed genes. Anyone could work hard, and there were many who did, for effort is something the individual controlled.

But blood type?

Kizna turned to her right, watching the rhythmic, slumbering movements of a mousy, gentle girl she had met but a few hours ago.

She hated the idea of being chained down by fate. She wanted to fight back against the universe, to do the impossible and become a woman pilot, but fact is fact and blood is blood. What inspired her was the current First. Surely it couldn't have been impossible, her self two years ago thought, surely it can be done since it _has_ been done and surely she was strong enough to do what has already been done. But she was wrong, of course.

_Strength also means learning to accept things_.

Accept? Oh, but she had accepted. She had accepted the fact she was dealt with no family, no memories of the past, no fifty percent of her own life. It was like she was only half a person.

Kizna continued watching the other girl—Ikhny Allecto, was it?—sleep comfortably in the dark.

Even less than half, actually. She had to accept being marked as a freak with her ears, swallowing hard and smiling at how even one fifth of her own physical features weren't good enough for this world. What did that make her? One-half minus one-fifth—ah, three-tenths of a real person. 

Wonderful.

Kizna clenched both her fists tightly as something wet slid down the side of her face. 

Maybe, though, maybe one day someone would tell her that her ears were special, that they made her who she was. No, who she _is - _it didn't matter who she _was_. The past is the past, right? She was still Kizna Towyrk _now_, she was _someone now_. And, even if she wasn't a someone now, she was determined to make herself into someone soon through GOA and eventually at GIS.

Her body relaxed and her head fell deeper into her pillow.

Yes, she would become someone. She had to. Coming this far, she couldn't let all her anxieties tie her down. She was strong. All her life, she knew she was resilient against obstacles and ready to overcome; she could defeat all that she had to accept in order to become someone, even if it meant she would need Someone…

Him. Whoever He was…

Will her pilot be ambitious? Will he be ambitious enough? Even if he were ambitious enough—would he have the talent? Would he be talented enough? Even if he were talented enough—would they get along? A pilot and repairer were meant to complement one another, but she wanted more than that.

She wanted them to complete each other.

Kizna smiled at the thought, at the rising feeling of warmth and hope in her chest, and wiped her face with the bed sheets. It was no good to worry about an unknown past any more than it was to do the same with an uncertain future. What mattered now was now and how the future would soon become it. She had to look ahead.

"I am Kizna Towryk," she whispered to herself, "I am Kizna Towryk…"

Lying with her back sinking into the bed and with her nose pointed straight up, Kizna Towyrk yawned, closed her eyes, and searched for some dreams.

***

She sat cross-legged in the grass, her head tilted upwards. A scented breeze fluttered by, weightless in the air, but weighty on the skin. Several feet away from her, he stretched his body out, his jacket on the ground and lumped beside him, his hands behind his head, cradling.

The planets were especially bright today and that somehow made everything better. She looked to the young man and wondered if he, too, would agree, but he didn't return the favor: his eyes were closed and his chest moved in loose rhythm to his breathing. From his surface expression, she was fooled into believing that he was at peace. Laughing quietly to herself, she tossed her gaze back to the above.

Yes, it truly was good to know that, in the end, there was always space. It worked absolutely, presenting stability in an otherwise volatile reality, appealing to some law of constancy that she craved for but never found in anything else. Whenever she was alone or confused, all she needed was to look up into that velvety, inviting eternity swathed with stars and then suddenly, she would feel swallowed, warmed, welcomed…

Like she was finally home.

"Sing for me…"

He spoke with a voice that seemed too far away. As always, ever since that first time, she complied and the song began in its usual slow, rocking rhythm. The wind and the world whirled into one.

Looking at his profile, as she was doing now, reminded her of something simultaneously young and old, like days that had died with the passing autumn's leaves, or like unborn moments waiting patiently to be unraveled and used. When he bowed his head and thick strands of raven hair would sweep over that sharp glint in his eyes, or when those dried lips parted slowly like rose petals about to fall, she could see a boy who carried her from a broken tree and into the light and a boy who carried her from a living fire and into the darkness and a boy who simply carried her, and the whole world, in front of him. 

She didn't know why or how this was, but something inside whispered that that wasn't what mattered.

There was a rustling and a grunt to her left; he flopped onto his side, an erect elbow in the yellowed grass and chin tucked lazily in palm. 

"This song…"

She immediately ceased singing and turned to give him a thoughtful look. He hadn't meant to interject, but the words had slipped heedlessly.

"This song…

"It makes all my thoughts fly into the endless sky."

He stared into her widening eyes and smiled sadly.

"Don't stop."

***

Ending Notes: Inspired by myths 11, 19, and 25. The title of the fic was taken from a line in _Unchained Melody_ by The Righteous Brothers. 


End file.
